Not Like This
by LCFC
Summary: Set after Playthings and with spoilers for S2 Episodes On a simple job Dean wonders if events are affecting Sam. The truth however is far worse and Dean has to face his worst fear Sam dying
1. Chapter 1

**Not Like This**

_This is my hopeful attempt to join the SFTCOL(AR)S. I hope that it will meet with their approval and that they will accept me into their hallowed ranks!_

_I love limp Sam!_

The job should have been a simple one; dig up the bones, salt and burn them, fill in the grave again and go. However life as a Winchester was never straight forward and Dean couldn't help but bite his lip in frustration as he watched Sam slouch from the car, dragging the shovel behind him.

His brother was pale and tired looking, there were circles under his slanting hazel eyes and his skin looked sallow. Sam had been quiet, quieter than normal and Dean knew that he was dwelling on all the things that had happened to them recently.

Dean regretted telling Sam the secret and, seeing Sam's reaction, he realised his father had been right when he had advised Dean to keep it from Sam. Dean knew his brother feared nothing more than becoming evil; becoming one of the things they hunted. He knew that Sam would never, wittingly, harm another human being and the thought that his baby, his Sammy could kill and enjoy it, disturbed Dean almost as much as it disturbed Sam.

Dean swallowed hard as he remembered the promise he made to Sam, a promise that he had hoped Sam would not remember. His brother had been wasted, completely out of it, drunk as a skunk; most people under the influence of so much alcohol would forget what had been said to them, but not Sam. No Sam had remembered everything and more and, after unburdening himself of his dad's secret, Dean was now burdened with a promise to his brother that he could never keep.

"Come on Sam" he put on his game face and turned, irritated to look at his brother. Despite being 6ft 4 inches tall, Sam seemed to have shrunk, buried deep into a sweatshirt that was too big, jeans hanging on too skinny hips "Lets get this thing over with and get out of here"

Sam raised his head as he heard his brother's voice and he swallowed hard. His throat was sore and his neck hurt. He felt sick, his stomach was rolling and his head felt heavy and thick with fog. He heard the impatience in Dean's voice and he forced his lips into a smile, hoping that it didn't look as pained and as false as it felt. All he wanted to do was go back to the motel, lie down and go to sleep. He swallowed again, hoping that the grave wasn't too deep and that the earth wasn't too hard.

It seemed to take forever to uncover the coffin and, despite the coolness of the night, Sam was dripping with sweat. It pooled in the small of his back, clung to his hair and poured into his eyes. Dean frowned as he looked at his brother. In the last two hours Sam had gone from pale to white, his skin thin, his jutting cheekbones making him look more like a skeleton than the bones infront of him. "Sam – what the fuck?" Dean felt his body tense with anger "Come on – you've got to stop dwelling on what's happened Sam – you've gotta let it go"

Sam lifted his head and frowned, the very movement making him wince with pain. His neck hurt so much now and it was stiff, as if he had been lying in an uncomfortable position. His throat felt as if it was on fire and he longed for a drink. He put a trembling hand up to touch his head and was disgusted at how wet and slimy it felt. His body swayed a little and he leant on the spade, trying to give the impression that he was ok, that everything was fine "M' ok Dean" his speech sounded slurred, even to his own ears and he felt as if he had been drinking again, the memory of beer and spirits making his stomach roll once more "Just a little tired is all – I'm not dwelling on anything" he put an uncoordinated hand up to his eyes and rubbed hard "M' ok"

He wanted it to be true; the last few weeks had been hell and he just wanted to put them out of his mind and move on. He could still remember the awful panic when the woman in the lab had cut him and rubbed her blood into his wound, still remembered his brother's face as he had faced him, his determination to kill both Sam and then himself. With painful clarity he recalled Dean's face when he had confessed his father's deathbed secret to Sam; he could still feel the horror, the fear; as he discovered just what the demon had planned for him. The dawning clarity that one day his beloved brother might have to kill him. 'Promise me' he'd said, drunkenly "You have to promise me" and Dean had complied, but Sam knew, knew only too well that Dean would walk to hell and back before keeping that promise.

He heard Dean shift and move and he heard the click of Dean's lighter as he bent over the grave. He smelt the sharp, metallic smell of petrol, the bitter scent of salt. Light flared and he winced, the sudden orange flames too bright; searing his eyes. He put his arm across his face, closing his eyes, squeezing them tight shut against the intensity. God everything hurt, every damn nerve, every fucking muscle. He moaned and knelt down suddenly, his head swimming "Dean…."

Dean watched with satisfaction as the bones burnt; another job well done, another evil thing banished from this good earth. "Hey Sam" he turned to his brother "Beers all round eh?" The words dried in his throat as he saw his brother over the flickering fire, Sam was on his knees, curled over so that his head rested on the grave dirt in front of him. He had his arms curled about his chest protectively and he was moaning, long, drawn out sounds like an animal in pain "Sammy?" Dean dodged the flames and knelt down by his brother "Sam?"

"Hurts" Sam's voice was harsh "Hurts Dean"

"What? What hurts Sammy?"

"Head, eyes, neck" Sam seemed to be folding in on himself, his whole body crumpling "Too bright Dean – everything – too bright"

"I'm gonna get you back to the car Sam and then we're gonna get to a hospital ok?" he put his hands under his brother's arms and hauled him to his feet. Sam groaned and reeled and Dean watched in horror as his little brother threw his head forward and vomited, hard and fast, the contents of his stomach spilling out. Dean felt the weight of Sam's body pull on his arms and he was forced to let his brother go, laying him gently on the grass, turning him over on to his side so that he didn't choke on his own vomit. Dean got out his cell and dialled 911, wondering briefly what he was going to tell the medics when they arrived at an open grave that was now smouldering and covered in ash. As he heard his brother moan yet again, he realised that that was the least of his worries. TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Not Like This – Chapter 2**

_Thank you to everyone for all the positive reviews – hope I don't disappoint anyone!_

The medics arrived within minutes and by then the fire was almost out. Dean was too wrapped up in Sammy to notice the strange looks he was getting and stayed kneeling by his brother's side. Sam was still vomiting, empty dry heaves and, to Dean's concerned hands, his skin felt cold and clammy. Sam's face was white and his breathing laboured. He seemed fevered, almost out of it, his eyes fixed, blearily, on Dean's anxious face.

"Can you tell me his name" a young female medic tapped Dean on the shoulder as she leant over Sam "And his symptoms"

"His name is Sam – Sam Cleaver – he's my brother" Dean added, even though he hadn't been asked "He seemed hot, his head hurt and he's been vomiting. I don't know what else – he" Dean felt a stab of guilt "He didn't tell me anything – he's good at hiding things" he bit his lip hard "Especially from me"

"Alright Sir – we are going to get him stretchered up and take him to the hospital – it's only about 10 minutes away – have you a car sir? Can you follow us?"

"Please" Dean gripped her arm "Please – let me come with you – he's my brother, he's all I have – I can't leave him"

"There isn't much room Sir" the girl looked at him, sympathy in her eyes, "But if you promise not to get in our way – then we can fit you inside" she turned her attention back to Sam, who had stopped vomiting. His brother's eyes were closed and his breathing shallow, his mouth moving but no words could be heard "We have to go now sir" she said kindly "Everything will be fine"

Dean forced a smile, tight and unbelieving, somehow he doubted it.

Dean sat in the waiting room, Sam's jacket clutched in nerveless fingers, rubbing the material between the tips, smelling the familiar scent of after shave, sweat and something that was just Sam. Dean swallowed, determined not to cry; he had to be strong, had to keep his game face on, even though there was no one here to care or to impress. He watched the door, willing it to open, wanting to know just what was wrong with his baby brother.

The doctor had mentioned a lumber puncture and had muttered complicated medical terms such as analysis of cerebrospinal fluid. Dean didn't know what this meant; he didn't understand; all he knew was that his brother was seriously ill and he couldn't help him, couldn't save him.

Dean stared mindlessly at the yellow walls. He was dog tired, his limbs aching. He felt strange, a mixture of anger, concern and grief. Why didn't Sam tell him just how sick he felt why hadn't Sam come to him and asked for help, they had just started to be honest with each other again, why the fuck couldn't Sam trust him?

"Mr Cleaver?" Dean's head snapped up. The doctor looked weary and her face was pale

"Yeah – my brother?" Dean rose to his feet "Sam – how is he?"

"Mr Cleaver – your brother has **Bacterial meningitis – the lumber puncture confirms it, although when I saw the rash on his body I was pretty sure" she looked at Dean, trying to gage his reaction "We've managed to get some antibiotics into him and we are going to continue this treatment – Sam isn't conscious and he is very, very sick. Hopefully we have caught this in time but we can't be sure. The next twenty four hours will be crucial – but Mr Cleaver – this is a very serious illness, it can cause septicaemia, brain damage and in severe untreated cases can lead to death" she put a steadying arm on Dean's shoulder "I'm sorry Mr Cleaver"**

**"Sam – he's – he's going to be ok right?" Dean tried to get his head around the doctor's words, tried to understand what was being said. This was Sam – his Sammy – his little brother who had survived two fires, who was immune to some fucking demon virus and who was now dying of a bacterial infection. He swallowed back an hysterical laugh and stared at the doctor, shaking his head "Please – he is going to be alright?"**

**"Mr Cleaver – Sam is very sick – we have him in ICU and he is being constantly monitored – I wish I could tell you more – but we are doing all that we can"**

**"Can I see him?" Dean gripped her arm "Please – let me see him"**

**"Of course – but Mr Cleaver – this is a very infectious disease – we are going to have to give you a dose of protective antibiotics through an injection – we need to protect you"**

**Dean shook his head; he didn't need protecting, he just wanted to go to Sam. He remembered his brother sitting in the lab, remembered waiting to kill Sam if he turned into a monster. He was ready then to kill Sam and himself. Tears stung his eyes and he blinked hard. Part of him wanted to refuse the injection, part of him wanted to be left alone; if Sam went, Dean wanted nothing more than to go with him. He didn't want to be protected, it was his job to protect Sam and part of that job meant that he would follow Sam anywhere, he didn't want Sam to be alone, he'd promised to look out for Sam and he didn't want to break that promise.**

**ICU was dim, lights muted. Dean could hear the soft hum and thud of the monitors, feel the cloying heat, smell the bitter scent of disinfectant and illness. He moved over to Sam's bed and stared down at his baby brother, his heart clenching.**

**Sam lay as still as death, the rise and fall of his chest his only movement. His eyes were shut, his mouth closed. His casted arm lay on the coverlet and his too long hair clung to his white face. There were tubes in his nose to assist breathing, IV's in his hand. Dean perched on the seat near Sam's head and stroked his brother's hair "Oh god Sammy" his voice broke "Please – not like this, please not like this"**

**Sam felt as if he were floating; his body was light and weightless and he was finally without pain. All around him was white, white ceilings, white floors, and white walls. It was peaceful, it was calm and he liked it. There was nothing to worry about here, nothing to bother him. He could stay here forever, rest here; the demon couldn't get him, he couldn't harm anyone, he was safe and secure. Sam smiled to himself, yeah; maybe he'd just stay here. He drifted on, happy, at peace, unconcerned as a gentle silence ruled and he slept. TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**Not Like This – Chapter 3**

Dean hated the ICU unit; it was like another world, womblike and warm, yet as far from comforting as any place could be.

Under the dim lights, Dean could see the other beds and the vague outlines of people like him; friends, relations, loved ones; hunched over, clutching at cold hands, stroking back hair from lifeless faces. Sometimes one of the monitors would screech and beep and doctors would come running; voices would be raised in desperation and, more often than not, soft sobs would follow as the machines beeped into nothingness.

He looked down at Sam. His brother looked worse instead of better, his face so pale it was almost paper thin across his bones. His breath was shallow, laboured and his eyes flickered behind closed lashes, as if he were dreaming. Dean brushed a hand across sweaty bangs, pushing them back, watching intently for some sign, some movement that would indicate to him that Sammy was still in there, still fighting.

He wondered how Sam could have contracted the disease; sneezing, coughing or kissing, the doctor had said. Well it certainly wasn't the latter; Dean huffed with wry amusement, their existence was so transient, so unstable, that it was hard to pinpoint just who or what they had come into contact with. Ghost girls, vampires, pissed off demons; all of them dangerous, but none of them responsible for what had happened to Sam. Dean stretched his limbs, creaking and aching, he wanted nothing more than to grab his brother and run, but all he could do was sit here, watching Sam and hoping for a miracle.

"He has some swelling on the brain" the doctor was honest and to the point "We had hoped to avoid it, but we have no option but to operate, to relieve the pressure" she smiled at Dean, a pale, wan smile "If we do this we might avoid brain damage – but it is a case of wait and see I'm afraid"

"Will he…" Dean swallowed; his game face abandoned "Will he be alright? After the operation I mean?"

"We can't guarantee anything Mr Cleaver – I'm sorry"

"He's my baby brother" Dean felt the bitter sting of tears "He's all I have"

"Mr Cleaver – Dean – I wish I could be more positive" her voice was soft, kind and the hand on his arm gentle "We will do as much as we can – I promise you that" she reached into her pocket and handed him a tissue "I'll see you after surgery"

They had shaved Sam's head and under normal circumstances Dean could have gained some amusement, some ammunition from that. Sam was barely recognisable now, pale, swollen face, his head swathed in bandages. Dean felt at a loss, unable to touch his brother's hand because of the IV's and the cast, unable now to even stroke his hair. Instead he sat by the bed, his head resting next to Sam's on the pillow, talking quietly to his baby, his Sammy, wanting nothing more than to see those bright eyes open and hear his brother's voice again.

The nights were the worst, Dean thought. Long, hot, endless. He knew he must look bad and he probably smelt worse but he couldn't leave his brother's side, couldn't risk not being there when…IF... Sam woke up. He could do with a coffee and his stomach was rumbling, but he sat stoically by the bed, his fingers rubbing Sam's neck, his ear lobe, any bit of skin he could actually see. Tears started up again and he clenched the tissue the doctor had given him in his fist, shredding it, taking his anger and frustration out on that tiny bit of paper "Come on Sammy" he hissed, his throat dry and raw, "We've beaten so much – you can't let this be the thing that gets you" he remembered the doctor's words and the fear of brain damage "Come on Sam – I need your geek boy brain – who else can do research? Who else can I rely on to speak Latin" he was openly sobbing now and he was acutely aware of other eyes on him, other desperate people reaching out to him in the darkness "Please Sammy – please"

Sam felt warm and content; drifting in his white and calm world. He had wanted to stay here, but something was pulling at him, something was nudging at him and he couldn't relax any longer. He felt something on his neck, water? What the fuck was that? He moved his head a little and he began to feel the whiteness fade; all of a sudden he could feel intense pain, in his head, in his limbs, in his throat. He began to panic, as the wetness seeped into his skin, was he bleeding? What was happening? The whiteness was gone now and all he could see was a flickering behind his eyes; then he heard a voice, distant but clear "Please Sammy - please"

Dean had been staring at Sam's face for so long his vision had blurred. Sam seemed different; something had changed. Dean bent closer and, all of a sudden, it hit him like a bullet in the chest. Sam's eyes were open and staring right at him. "Sam!?" Dean put his hand up to his brother's face "Sam can you hear me?"

Sam looked alarmed; his hands went automatically to the tube in his mouth and Dean gently slapped them away "No Sammy – let me call the doctors" he pressed the button beside him "Just don't panic little brother ok?"

Sam could barely move, but he heard Dean's voice, Dean's reassurance and he felt better. He lay back and let the doctors' work on the tube; tears of pain and frustration running freely down his cheeks. His head felt funny, strange and his neck still hurt a little. His hands were stiff from the IV's and his body felt as if a great weight was pressing on it. He kept his eyes on his brother; Dean was hovering in the background, shouting instructions to the nurses and getting some filthy looks. Sam wished he could remember how he got here and what had happened, but all he was feeling now was pain and he wished he could retreat back into his peaceful white dreams but he could see, from the look on Dean's face, that that was clearly not going to be an option. TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Not Like This – Chapter 4**

The tube had been removed and Sam could finally speak. Dean watched as his brother struggled to form words, his voice hard and grating, his throat raw from the tube and lack of moisture "Dean – what happened?" Sam's eyes were wide, pleading, childlike and Dean put a hand on his upper arm, gently caressing the bicep, massaging.

"You got sick Sam" Dean felt his stomach clench and his body felt weak with relief as three days of pent up fear came rushing out of him "Why didn't you tell me you felt so bad?" he found himself clenching Sam's muscle tightly now, anger and panic flooding out "If you'd have said something we could have gotten you to a doctor sooner and none of this would have happened"

"Sorry Dean" Sam seemed to visibly deflate and Dean felt instant guilt; the doctor had warned him that Sam would be weak, disorientated, maybe suffer from mild depression. 'Great Dean' he berated himself angrily 'Great way to help your brother'.

"No I'm sorry Sam" Dean sat down on the bed and brushed a hand across Sam's cheek "I should have taken more notice, I should have taken more care" he picked up a glass from the bedside table and poured some water to give to his brother "Things are so fucked up"

Sam took the water and sipped it gratefully. Since waking up he had been prodded, poked and had a fair amount of blood and other fluids taken out of him. His back was sore through the lumber puncture and his neck and throat still ached and burned. He felt slightly sick and disconnected, as if his body was here and his head somewhere else. The only real solid thing at the moment was his brother and he wanted to cling to Dean like he had done when they were children, when his big brother was not only his friend, but his protector and his hero. "The doctor says there's no lasting damage right?" his voice sounded wrong, even to his own ears and he coughed, sipping again at the water "I mean – I'm gonna get out of here?"

"She's pretty confident your going to make a full recovery – yeah" Dean smiled, wiping the water from Sam's chin "But you are gonna have to stay in ICU for a few more days and then at least a week on a normal ward" he grinned, a slight but reassuring sight "And then she recommended two weeks recovery at home"

"Yeah – right" Sam's smile was slight, only touching his dimples "I don't understand what happened Dean? How did I catch meningitis? Why me?" his voice wavered on the last question and Dean swallowed hard. What could he say?

'Why me?" It was his brother's mantra and Dean could hardly blame Sam for feeling self pity right now. Sam had gone through so much and felt as if there was so much more to come. He had lost his mother, his girlfriend and his dad; he lived in constant fear of becoming something evil; he had to endure painful visions and long spells of guilt when these visions came true without Sam being able to prevent them. They had both been to hell and back these past few months and it was hard to know just how far they had to fall before they could start climbing back up again. Dean huffed and fidgeted on the bed; he missed his dad, he missed him so much that it hurt both physically and mentally. He had lost the better part of his family and now all he had left was Sam – and Sam was broken – and Dean just didn't know how to put him back together again "It wasn't anything you did or didn't do Sam" Dean stroked his brother's arm "It could have been some snotty kid in a diner sneezing on you for all we know – I guess it's just one of those things"

"I thought it was the flu" Sam winced as he shuffled in the bed. It was hard to move with the IV's stuck in his hand; his bladder felt full and his head hurt "I'm sorry Dean – I just thought it was the flu"

"Don't keep apologising Sam" Dean felt a sudden rush of anger "None of this is your fault ok? Don't beat yourself up over it – just be thankful that you are out of it – all in one piece and with your brain intact – that's all you can do"

"Maybe it would have been better if I had died" Sam's eyes were bleak, distant "Then I wouldn't have to hold you to the promise you made"

"Fuck Sam" Dean shot of the bed, his voice raised in anger. He was aware of the other people in the unit staring at him and he shrugged an apology, leaning against his brother's bed, his forehead pressed against the headboard "I don't want you to die Sam" he hissed, through gritted teeth "You are all I have and I'll fight to the very last to keep you safe, to make sure that you stay my irritating, annoying, whiney little brother – I'm not worried about the promise I made Sam – cos you ain't ever gonna turn evil – not whilst I'm around – not whilst I can do something about it"

"Dean" brightness flickered in Sam's eyes and lifted a hand to touch Dean's face. It was trembling, unsure, weighed down by IV needles, but it was warm and alive "Dean – I need to say this ok? Please don't stop me – just let me say it – just this once"

"Sam" Dean sat down again, leaning into the touch, feeling the tenderness in his brother's caress. He knew what was coming, fuck he had avoided it for years, decades, but he couldn't avoid it any longer, it was time to get it out in the open and maybe then they could move on.

"I love you Dean" Sam's voice was firmer now "You are everything to me – and – if I cling to that – then I think we can get through this"

"Sam" Dean sounded as hoarse as Sam did and his body was shaking. He wanted to respond, to reply, but he had no words. Instead he just leant into his brother's touch and let his brother love him. **TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**Not Like This – Chapter 5**

Sam stood, on shaky legs, and gazed into the bathroom mirror.

He could barely recognise the person staring back at him; his face was way too thin, cheekbones standing out starkly, eyes black circled and sunken, lips dry and chapped. He hadn't eaten properly for a very long time, in fact it felt years since he had actually sat down and eaten a three course meal. Hospital food was bland and unsatisfying, but Sam didn't have much appetite anyway and he had spent the best part of a week in bed so he wasn't exactly burning up much energy.

A trembling hand reached up to run across his head and he sighed, wincing as his long fingers caught on the tiny stitches at the base of his scalp. He wasn't a vain person by any means but he couldn't stop staring at this hairless creature in front of him, brown stubble barely covering his skull. He had had long hair for as long as he could remember; he had hated haircuts as a child and his father had long since given up trying to keep his hair as razored and as short as Deans. He had kept his hair deliberately long as he grew older, a childish show of rebellion and when he had gone to Stanford Jess had confessed her weakness for long haired men and he had kept it that way ever since. Foolish tears pricked his lashes; Dean had tried to joke with him about his shaved head and he'd smiled along with his brother, anxious not to cause him anymore distress, but in reality he hated the fact that his head was shaved, hated the fact that his face was so white, hated the fact that even his tightest tee-shirt hung off him and that he could feel his fucking ribs.

He splashed his face with water and cleaned his teeth. Today they were letting him out; granted with a long list of pain meds and instructions and orders to rest. Sam spat into the bowl and grinned at himself humourlessly, sure – rest – that would be a new one.

He couldn't rest; how could he? If they didn't hunt then he wouldn't be able to save people and if he couldn't save people – how long before he turned? How long before the yellow-eyed demon came for him. He swayed a little and gripped the sink determinedly, he couldn't let Dean see how weak he felt, couldn't let him see how much he needed to just stop. Dean had already stated that he was tired of the hunt; how he wanted to visit the Grand Canyon or Amsterdam. Sam let his head rest on his hands for a moment; he never in a million years saw this reversal of ideals coming. Dean wanting to be normal; Sam wanting to hunt.

Sam sighed deeply and raised his head again, fingering the week old stubble on his chin. Maybe he should grow a beard to compensate for his lack of hair. He wondered, randomly, how long it would take to grow back – six months? A year? His thoughts ran on – what bitter irony that he should survive a demonic virus only to fall foul to bacteria – if it wasn't so fucking tragic it would be hysterical.

"Sam – you fall in dude?" Dean's voice carried through the bathroom wall and broke into Sam's thoughts "Come on bro – I brought the Impala round – we're all ready to go"

"Yeah – ok – give me a minute" Sam tossed the razor into the sink angrily – he would grow a beard – a fucking huge one. He gave the stranger in the mirror one more smirk and went out to join his brother.

Dean knew Sam was hurting. Hell you can't spend most of your life with someone and not be able to read them like a book and, to add to that, Dean had always seen through Sam and it was no different now than it had ever been. "Sam – you wanna stop?" Dean put a tentative hand on Sam's thigh, a gentle squeeze to attract attention "I'm kinda hungry"

"Nah – I'm good – I'll eat when we get to the motel" Sam pressed his face up against the Impala's window and closed his eyes, evidently not in the mood for chat.

Dean gripped the steering wheel and clenched his teeth to stop from snarking. He had to be gentle; he had to take care of Sam.

He had been surprised and a little uneasy when Sam suggested they move on. He had been planning on staying put for a bit, the town wasn't that bad and he figured Sam needed his rest – but not Sam – no the stubborn bastard wanted to be up and at 'em before he had even had a chance to pack his stuff. Dean knew that Sam was still feeling sick and he knew that his was a bad idea – but he just couldn't say no to Sam – never could – probably never would. His baby brother had him by the balls and Dean was ashamed of himself for not being stronger.

Dean had re-lived, over and over, the moment in the hospital when Sam had told him that he loved him. Dean loved Sam too and wanted more than anything to respond but, as usual, his stubborn pride had kept him from replying to Sam. He hoped that he hadn't hurt Sam too much and he prayed that Sam knew, in his heart, what Dean felt. Dean glanced again at Sam, at those closed eyes, the white face, the newly acquired beard, the shaven head. His brother seemed like a stranger to him and he felt further away from Sam now than he had ever felt when his brother was at Stanford.

Sam could feel his stomach rolling and he knew that they would have to stop soon. His head was hurting and he realised, much to his horror, that he was going to throw up. He gripped Dean's arm in desperation "Dean – pull over I'm gonna…." Too late "AGGHH" Sam doubled over and retched, the liquid contents of his stomach turning to bile

"Sam – Sammy?" No sarcastic comments about the upholstery or his beloved car, Dean looked swiftly in the mirror, turned sharply and pulled on to the hard shoulder. Sam flung open the door and spilt out, falling onto his hands and knees, heaving and sobbing until he had done.

Dean kept by his brother, rubbing his hand in small circles on Sam's back, keeping his voice soft and soothing "Come on Sammy – come on now – breath through it"

"Your car" a voice so harsh it was virtually unrecognisable "I'm sorry"

"Fuck the car" Dean sounded angry "I'm more concerned about you – Sam – why are we driving here? Why didn't we just stay put till you felt better? Why are you driving yourself on like this? Sam – you're not gonna need me to kill you little brother – that much is for sure"

"Dean" the voice was small "You promised"

"Oh yeah – but Sam – you won't need me to kill you – because you're so damn determined to do it yourself!" and with that, Dean stalked back to the Impala and left Sam in the dirt with his thoughts. **TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**Not Like This – Chapter 6**

Dean pulled the Impala to a halt and shook Sam gently by the shoulder. His brother stirred, stretching awkwardly and opening his eyes, squinting against the bright sunlight "What..?"

"Haul ass – Sammy – we're here"

Sam stared out of the window at the building in front of him. It wasn't the usual scummy motel that they stayed in but a smart, two storey, white fronted building with carefully mowed lawns and an ornamental fountain in the lobby "Dean – what the hell?" Sam watched as Dean got out of the car and began to unpack their bags "We can't afford…." His voice trailed off as Dean shot him a similar look to the one he had received earlier when he had been retching by the roadside. It was a definite 'Don't fuck with me' look and Sam, after years of being on the receiving end of such looks, knew when to keep his mouth shut. He got out of the car, his limbs shaking and weak. God he felt awful, hardly any better than he had before his hospital stay. His head still hurt and he felt sick and tired, wanting nothing more than to lie down and sleep. Dean took the bags and gestured that Sam follow him. The Receptionist at the desk looked up as they entered and Sam could virtually see the disgust on that over-made up face as Dean slammed his back pack on the desk "Reservations for Mr Gunn" he reached in his pocket and Sam caught the flash of gold – shit – they were using the good stuff then. He bit back a groan as his head began to thud; Dean was taking the keys from the falsely smiling woman and pocketing the card again; Sam watched, feeling detached and fuzzy, wondering if he could stay awake long enough to appreciate the luxury of the hotel.

The room was bright, clean and comfortable looking with a huge bathroom and two king sized beds. Sam flopped down on the first one and closed his eyes, not even bothering to undo his boots or take off his jacket. He was barely aware of his surroundings by now and just wanted to go into the darkness and, possibly, stay there. He could, however, sense Dean's presence in the room and the thought that his big brother was watching over him made him feel safer than he felt he had a right to.

The most wonderful scent pervaded Sam's nostrils and he shifted, his mouth watering. He opened one eye carefully, aware that it was dark now and that the room was filled with dim, but comforting, artificial light. He gingerly stretched out his arms and was pleasantly surprised to find that they no longer ached; his head felt better too and his stomach was no longer rolling, in fact it was actually growling, the scent in the room making him giddy with hunger.

"Are you gonna join us Princess?" Dean sat on the edge of his bed and touched his shoulder "Food's getting cold and we don't wanna waste it"

Sam swung his legs over the edge of the bed and groaned. He did feel better, stiff and grubby, but better. He shrugged off his jacket and swiftly washed his hands, hunger suddenly more important than being clean.

Sam stared at the carefully laid out table and wondered, briefly, just how much room service in a place like this cost. The table was laden with food, steak, fried onions, fried potatoes, corn and crusty bread. Sam hadn't realised just how hungry he was until he took his first mouthful of tenderly cooked meat and then he couldn't stop, shovelling the food into his mouth much to his brother's silent amusement.

It didn't take long before he felt full and replete, sitting back and rubbing his hand, absently, across his stomach. Dean watched him, his green eyes sharp, his expression unreadable "You feeling better now?" his brother asked

"MMM" Sam wiped a palm across his mouth and sighed "Much"

"Ok – get your jacket back on – we're going for a walk"

"Walk?"

"Yeah you know Sammy – fresh air – one foot in front of the other"

"I'm not sure Dean" he bit back a yawn "I'm feeling kind of sleepy again"

"Walk Sam" Dean had that look again and Sam sighed, rising to his feet, relishing in the fullness of his gut and the sudden warmth flooding through his veins

"Ok Dean" he put his jacket back on and followed his brother.

The hotel had its own grounds and they were beautiful. It was a cold, calm evening and the sky was clear and full of stars. The whole world seemed bathed in silver moonlight and Sam couldn't help but wonder how something so lovely could often seem so tainted with evil. He breathed in the fresh air, relishing in the scent of it, so different from the stale disinfectant and sickness that pervaded every inch of the hospital.

"Good" he was aware of Dean standing very close to him and he nodded

"Yeah – it's great" Sam realised that he didn't actually hurt anymore and that the tiredness he was feeling was a welcome one; one not brought about by tension and sickness "Thanks Dean"

"If you feel like this after one day and half a night here, just imagine how a good long vacation might feel" Dean's face was hidden in the darkness but his voice was firm

"Dean you know..." Sam turned to his brother, gripping his shoulders tightly "You know that we can't"

"Damn it Sam!" Dean closed his own hands over Sam's and pulled them away, shaking his brother "You need to rest – we need to rest" he flashed a grin "I tell you what – how about we make a deal?"

"What sort of deal Dean?"

"How about we take a break until your hair grows back" Dean's eyes glittered in the moonlight and Sam stared at him, aghast

"That could take months Dean! Fucking years" he could feel himself shaking "I need to carry on hunting – I need to save as many people as I can Dean – if I don't then you are going to have to kill me"

"You don't know that Sam" Dean's eyes seemed over bright in the darkness, pools of silver reflecting in his pupils "You don't know anything – dad might have been right but he might have been fucking wrong – he wasn't infallible you know"

"I know – but "Sam was still reeling from Dean's statement – fuck – that was the second time he had heard his brother bad mouth his father and it still struck him dumb – to Dean his dad had always been a hero, someone who should be obeyed without question and yet now – now Dean was seeing fault with his dad – and Sam couldn't really comprehend it "But I need to do it Dean"

"Sam – please" Dean sounded desperate, pleading and Sam had never heard him use that tone before "You nearly got yourself blown to bits by Gordon – you tried to drink yourself into a stupor – and in the hospital you nearly fucking died" he gripped Sam's face, bringing it up close to him so that he could look directly into his eyes "I don't want little bits of you Sam – I don't want to bring you home in a fucking body bag – ok so you might turn evil and I might have to kill you – but we don't know that – just get it through your stubborn and fucking stubbly head – I don't want to lose you Sam – I – I – for god's sake Sammy – I fucking love you"

And Sam had no real answer for that. **TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

**Not Like This – Chapter 7**

"It's awesome" Dean was gaping and Sam couldn't stop the grin on his face becoming a fully fledged smile "I – I never expected it to be this big"

"It's the Grand Canyon Dean" Sam turned to look at his brother "Why do you think they called it that?"

"I just never expected this Sam" Dean moved a little closer to the edge and breathed in the fresh mountain air "I just never imagined"

"It is beautiful Dean" Sam slung an arm around his brother's shoulder and was pleasantly surprised when it was allowed to rest there; no attempt to shrug it off; no snarky remark "It is beautiful"

Sam could feel his head start to itch and he lifted his free hand and took off the baseball cap he was wearing. He let his fingers scratch across his head and sighed in instant relief. Dean watched him for a moment, a tiny smile playing across his lips "Looking good Sammy" was all he said.

Sam knew he looked better. His skin was brown now instead of white and even his loosest jeans felt a little tight. He no longer felt tired or ill, he felt more like himself, more like the old Sam and he knew that he had his brother to thank for that. He lifted his hand to his head again and let his fingers run through the hair that was growing there. It had grown again and now was a little longer than Deans. He could feel the wind whipping through it and he looked at the baseball cap in his hand; he would never need it again.

"I guess we should think about checking out" Dean's voice was soft, gentle "I'm thinking maybe its time to get back on the road again"

Sam felt his insides twist a little and he swallowed hard; It had taken a long time to let Dean persuade him to stop hunting and take a little R & R, but once the decision had been made, he had decided to make the best of it. They had visited Florida, spent hours on sunny beaches and even taken a detour to Disneyland. They had camped on the edge of the Everglades, watched the sunset in the Blue Ridge Mountains and taken a tram ride in San Francisco. Sam couldn't remember when he had last been so happy and now he didn't want it to end. He smiled, wryly, to himself; why had he been so reluctant to stop? Initially he had felt incredibly guilty, telling himself he couldn't escape his destiny, but now he just felt content and he wished that he could go back to the motel room, cut off his hair and start again. He looked across at Dean, trying to read the expression on his brother's face.

Dean could see the doubt, the fear in Sam's eyes and he felt a deep sadness that he had been the one to put those expressions there. They both stood on the edge of a precipice; ready to fly or to fall; He moved closer to his brother, leaning into the arm around his shoulder so that the casual embrace became a hug "You know we have to go back don't you?" he put his own arm around Sam's waist and squeezed "We need to go back now Sam – it's time"

They stood for a moment; eyes fixed on the vast expanse in front of them, both wonderful and frightening in its infinity. They stood in each other's warm embrace, two fragile humans against a world of evil, a world that could reach out and take them at any time; a world that could separate them for eternity; a world that could shatter and leave them unable to pick up the pieces. Dean finally broke the embrace, giving Sam one last hug "I'm glad we did this" he whispered "I'm glad you didn't die in that hospital – I'm glad that you're my brother" he swallowed, avoiding another chick-flick moment; another declaration of love; Dean had said it once and might never say it again, but it was there and it was more tangible, more real than any other emotion he had ever felt. Sam turned and smiled at his brother, a wide, genuine dimpled smile, his white teeth flashing

"Yeah me too dude" he turned and began to walk back to the Impala, its black exterior shining in the slowly setting sun "Let's go – we've got work to do"

**Fin**


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